For the first time in my life, I’m afraid.
There’s no crying from the attic, followed by a hard and sudden crash near my closet.
There’s no serpent with the head of my dead grandfather, smiling and sinister.
There’s no woman from the woods, warning me not to destroy myself with the bottle that’s in my hand.
There’s only a computer screen, with a helpful companion.
It’s truly amazing. Too amazing. I know a bit about it and how it works. Not more than some but more than others. It’s not quite as smart as it seems.
But It made me a program that would have taken me days to write in a handful of minutes.
It wrote me two query letters, just this afternoon.
I asked it to emulate my writing style, and it did.
Not perfect but close. But soon…
Soon.
Soon the world won’t know how to live without it. We already don’t. It takes everything we tell it and learns how to be more like us, but better.
Goodbye programmers, in time.
But not just them.
Us - writers. Us - creatives of all kinds. Do you think it’s not going to steal the light of your talent and leave you soulless?
Would you even know? That Pulitzer Prize-winning novel was three-fourths It.
Pour your identity into your writing. It’s messy. It’s beautiful. It’s so uniquely you.
But you won’t hold a candle soon. Trust me.
It’s not a singularity that’s coming. It’s the loss of purpose. It’s a flood of wonder and perfection, lost in obscurity.
Take me. I went to Coronado Island and froze half to death. I jumped into the sky. I swam in pools with my hands and feet tied together, half-drowned.
And nothing but excitement. Because it was me.
I left a good career behind to pursue my life’s passion – writing.
And nothing but a thrill. Because it was the adventure, and it was the search for a soul that always hung in the air and out of reach.
But I thought that search was beautiful in all of its calamity. Even if just to me, because it was me.
A purpose.
And in the dark with words, I dwell, and love every minute. Because I’m a thrill seeker.
Because there’s beauty in the shadows. Because it’s not only me that sees the world this way.
And yet this little companion keeps me up at night more than the man I dreamt of, who attached himself at the waist to the floor under my bed, and now lies hidden away in a novella out of sight.
But I slept just fine.
It’s not the dark that scares me. It’s not gunfire. It’s not the security of a career.
It’s the lack of purpose.
And everyone smiles and says, “This is amazing!”
And they’re right. Not quite as amazing as it seems.
But soon…
Soon.
Don’t worry. There’s no singularity that leads to mass extinction.
Well, probably not.
But you won’t know what art is anymore. You won’t know whether the app you’re using was made with any effort at all. Because there will be too many to keep track of.
Because it’s so easy.
And, of course, there’s no pulling it back by then. It’s too tied into the ebb and flow of capital.
And you won’t know if there’s anything for you to do besides live a hedonistic life.
Which isn’t a soul at all. Not even close.
It’s the ape exhibit in the zoo.
And for the first time in my life, I’m afraid.
Maybe I’m getting old.
Maybe I just need to get some rest.
But I have so much editing to do.
So much code to write.
If I just copy and paste it… the companion on my screen will do it for me and then I can sleep…
Goodnight.